


Always Open

by genee



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-01
Updated: 2005-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-12 03:18:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genee/pseuds/genee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Justin would just ask him, Lance would say yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Open

**Author's Note:**

> Written for nonchop, Lambs Day 2005

Lance turns the ringer off on his bedside phone without opening his eyes, wondering what he's done to deserve this. _Nothing_ , he thinks, and then he opens his eyes and stares at his ceiling and thinks, _Everything_. It's his own fault and he knows it, he's done everything Justin's ever asked him to do, everything, right from the beginning. Justin had called him up, out of the blue, a complete stranger, and suddenly Lance was on a plane with his momma, auditioning for some vocal group he'd never even heard of and wanting it more than anything, more than he'd wanted horseback riding lessons, more than he'd wanted his driver's license even, and God, he couldn't even explain _why_. Not out loud, anyway, not when it sounded crazy even in his own head.

 _Justin_ , Lance thinks, swinging his feet over the side of the bed and stretching until his shoulders pop into place. It's always Justin, had always been Justin, but it's never been like _this_ , and this is something he doesn't need, not right now. He needs to get up, is what he needs. He needs to get down to the pool and get started on his laps, because he can't deal with not working out at all but he's too bulky already, and people are starting to talk. At least that's what Justin says, and that's always been reason enough for Lance. So, swimming. Five days a week and it's hell on his skin but he likes it, likes it better since he spotted Justin out of the corner of his eye last week, feet dangling in the water and one hand shading his eyes. Lance had twisted out of his next turn and come up splashing, loving how the water made them both seem ten years younger, whooping and laughing like when they were kids.

He hears his cell phone ringing downstairs and he catches himself smiling before he remembers that he's supposed to be resisting, that he isn't happy about this and it isn't what he wants. Except that it sort of is. Some days Justin leaves him messages like a normal person, calls him once and leaves a message and Lance calls him back later, or texts him, or whatever, but those days are few and far between because Justin wants what he wants and he has lots of time now, too much time, and Justin needs to be busy. Lance needs for Justin to be busy, too busy to keep calling and calling until Lance picks up the phone, that's one thing he knows for sure.

He slips on his sweats and doesn't look in the mirror when he brushes his teeth, doesn't look in any of the mirrors between his bedroom and the pool house and he doesn't think about why. Instead, he thinks about Justin and right on cue, his cell phone rings in his pocket. He doesn't remember grabbing it on his way through the kitchen, but he's glad he did because whatever this is, this thing with Justin, Lance isn't sure he wants it to stop. In fact, he's pretty sure he doesn't.

Justin's talking before Lance has the phone all the way to his ear, just saying his name over and over, _Lance, Lance, Lance_ , and Lance wonders how weird it is that he thinks it's sweet, sweeter than a roomful of flowers, sweeter than mimosas in the morning, and then Justin says, "I can hear you breathing, yo," and all Lance can do is laugh.

"Perv," Lance says, still laughing. He's trying maneuver into his Speedo one-handed because his phone's too damn small to hold with his shoulder and he left the hands-free in the house somewhere. "Anyway, J, listen. You gotta stop with this shit."

"Hey, you're the heavy breather, Bass."

Lance adjusts his swimsuit and grabs his goggles from the hook. It's not getting any earlier and Lance steps outside, chlorine and cut grass in the air, bright sun in his eyes and Lance says, "Seriously, J. Enough's enough, you know?"

"No," Justin says, "I don't know. It never has been before." Lance hears him sigh, hears his teeth click and then Justin asks, "Did you swim yet?"

"Gettin' ready to now." Lance sets the phone down and wets his hair and his cap and makes sure to squeak the latex so he knows Justin'll be laughing when he picks the phone up again. He leaves the cap pushed up on one side, though, bunched over his ear so he can hear. "What's up, man?"

"Uhm, you know. Just calling. You wearin' the black Speedos?"

"Fuck off," Lance says, closing his eyes and fitting his goggles around head, resting them just over his eyes. Lance knows if he could see Justin, he'd be smiling now, white teeth and bright eyes and Lance smiles, too, says, "I'm wearin' the blue ones."

"Even better," Justin says, and Lance just rolls his eyes. "I'll bring you breakfast."

"You need a new hobby, Justin. Join a club. Take a class. Didn't you used to sing or somethin'?"

Justin's quiet for a minute and Lance slides into the water, careful of the phone against his ear. If Justin would just ask him, Lance would say yes. That's the way it is, the way it's always been, Justin asks and Lance says yes and he wonders if there's really any chance that Justin hasn't noticed this yet. There's not, right? "I'm gonna swim now, J."

"Which stroke?"

"There's something wrong with you, Justin, you know that, right?"

"Mmm," Justin says, and Lance isn't sure if he's agreeing or just picturing Lance in the pool. "I'm gonna come over, okay? I like to watch you in the water, man. You're good. You're a good swimmer. Plus, I'll bring you breakfast."

"Okay," Lance says. "Breakfast."

"And swimming," Justin adds, like maybe Lance isn't going to or something, or like he's not going to let Justin swim, too. "And you can tell me why this is a bad idea and then we can swim some more and you can call me a stalker again, okay?"

"You _are_ a stalker!"

"Maybe," Justin says, so soft Lance has to stay very still to hear him, has to close his eyes against his reflection in the water, too bright, too distorted, and Lance needs to hear this just as he is. "Maybe," Justin says again, "but I don't wanna be."

"I'm gonna swim now, J." Lance takes a deep breath and his chest feels like he's been doing laps for ages already, full and open and the sort of sweetsore that makes him want to take another deep breath just to feel that ache again. "I'd like to see you, though. Have breakfast. Hang out. You wanna come over?"

"Yup."

"Stay a while?"

"Yup."

"Okay, then." Lance thumbs his phone off and tosses it on to the lounge chair where he dropped his towel earlier. He adjusts his cap and his goggles and doesn't touch his swimsuit, he doesn't dare. He just starts swimming, lap after lap, concentrating on the feel of the strokes, the stretch of his muscles pulling against the water, and every time he touches the wall, tucks and turns, he looks up, sunlight glinting off the water and Justin's smile refracting over and over, shining all the way through.  
   
   


\-- End --


End file.
